


Fall Harder

by ArthurWeasley



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Ahistorical, Angst, Fluff, Hearing Voices, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Religious Cults, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurWeasley/pseuds/ArthurWeasley
Summary: 1912, New York. Father Nathan Ingram and Father Harold Rook had been working tirelessly to protect their city from the Wrong. At least, that's what Father Ingram had led the Holy Fellowship to believe.This story takes place after the fellowship dissolves and Harold Rook moves away from the city. Inspiration borrowed heavily from Old Gods of Appalachia.
Relationships: Harold Finch/Nathan Ingram
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Fall Harder

1912, New York. Father Nathan Ingram and Father Harold Rook had been working tirelessly to protect their city from the Wrong. At least, that's what Father Ingram had led the Holy Fellowship to believe.

Father Rook, on the other hand, was the man behind the curtain. Rook was not seen at the front of the church, and the only one that ever spoke to him was Father Ingram. From the beginning, Ingram was in the palm of the Wrong, on board immediately with their preachings. 

At the altar in the lowest level of the church was Rook, getting his hands dirty, bruising his knees praying, and listening, ever listening to the Voices of the Wrong. Rook had been chosen over Ingram to take on the word of the Wrong, and he received it in his mind. He scribbled out their word for the other Father to spread to their fellowship in the daily sermons.

Rook had taken the word of the Wrong as what was right and good from the start, as well. Unfortunately for him, he was not as naive as Ingram. While Ingram would not doubt the Wrong's word for anything, Rook had been blessed with critical thought.

After what he deemed had been too long, Father Rook began to disobey the Voices inside his head. The church had already gone to shit. People were dying and houses were burning, and while the pews were packed more than ever before to hear Father Ingram's words, Rook knew it couldn't last. The land couldn't take much more, and the Wrong weren't the only ones around with the power to change things.

Before Rook knew it, Ingram was gone. He had returned to the church late one night after the Voices had screamed at him to go back. Having left one too many times without their permission, the Wrong had taken away what Father Rook needed most.

Breaks from service writing meant Rook was allowed a chance to head up the stairs from the altar room. Leaning against the wall, he listened not to the Voices of the Wrong, but the strong, confident words of Father Ingram booming out from above his podium. 

Sometimes, Father Rook wouldn't be allowed a break all day, and Ingram would gently pull the quill from his fingers. He would slip a glass of wine into his hand and place a platter of food in front of the other Father, sitting and talking with him as he ate.

Since Rook's hands often trembled too badly to wrap his own bloodied, scarred palm, Ingram carried with him always a roll of bandages for when the Voices called away his companion for a sacrifice in the middle of the night.

In other churches, perhaps, the scripture wouldn't allow such occurrences, but the Voices of the Wrong had never once forbidden the stroking of a thumb across knuckles, the soft looks back and forth, or the brief brush of lips together between priests.

The church was burning. Roaring flames that reached to the sky licked at the windows until they shattered. Rook had immediately rushed inside to find the other Father despite the smoke choking him and the heat being near unbearable.

"Nathan! Nathan, where are you?!" Rook called into the worship hall between rasping coughs. His voice was drowned out by the sounds of the building creaking, groaning, and threatening to come down on top of him. He headed towards the back of the church where they normally resided.

"Harold!" Father Ingram huffed, carrying an armful of the most important words of the Wrong. Rook clenched his jaw. If only he knew who had set the building ablaze in the first place.

"Come on, let's get out of-" Father Rook began, starting back out of their private quarters. Of course, as Father Ingram was just looking out at his companion, exiting the same room, the archway collapsed.

"NATHAN!" cried Rook, starting towards the flames and splinters of beams that lay on top of his inevitably dead friend. The fire seemed to spit at him, taunting him. Before he could get too close, the building swayed, groaning and whining, above him, and he fled for the open doors at the end of the worship hall.

He might have made it out safe and sound if it weren't for the Wrong's vengeance. A beam that hadn't been in danger of falling at all was cruelly ripped from around the door, slamming into Rook's back and turning his vision to black. He fell heavily into the dirt outside his church.

**Author's Note:**

> These characters do not belong to me.


End file.
